


The Perils of Expectations

by brisingrdraumar



Category: Thor (2011)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst, Bastardization of Norse mythology and Marvel timelines, Blatant and gross demonization of the Character Amora...sorry, Character Death, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Incest, M/M, Mpreg, Rimming, Romance, Smut, The worst attempt at plot ever, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-07
Updated: 2012-08-08
Packaged: 2017-11-11 16:31:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 15,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/480549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brisingrdraumar/pseuds/brisingrdraumar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I may be a magician and god, but even I wouldn’t relish travelling at the moment. I will be fine in Asgard, Thor. Nothing and no one would dare harm me here.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> So...this is basically my first ever attempt at a fic that has what vaguely resembles something close to a plot. 
> 
> That being said...it's still mostly gratuitous sex and violence. 
> 
> I'm not too satisfied with it, to be honest, (mostly with the 'plot' elements...the sex and violence I'm pretty stoked with. I'm sure that says something about me as a person...), but after going over it for so long and just stewing...I am sick of looking at it, so I decided to just post it here. 
> 
> Like the tags suggest, I BLATANTLY demonize Amora. If that makes you angry I suggest you click away. 
> 
> I also bastardize Norse mythology and Marvel facts a bit, but not too terribly bad for an AU.

“I shall be gone, hopefully, for only a handful of days, but no more than a fortnight, my love. Are you sure you do not wish to accompany us?”

“I may be a magician and god, but even I wouldn’t relish travelling at the moment. I will be fine in Asgard, Thor. Nothing and no one would dare harm me here.”

***

Isn’t it funny how the silver-tongued Trickster couldn’t sense the malicious irony in the air? Loki mentally kicked himself-or he would have if he hadn’t had enough of _that_ already. The air was so thick with malevolence that he felt sick and could hardly breathe as he watched Thor and their mother follow the rainbow bridge to Heimdall’s post.  He imagined them; they were beyond his eyesight at this point, twisting into the bifrost in a kaleidoscope of light and hurtling toward Vanaheim, and felt, for the first time in a while, regret. Regret at staying behind. A regret, he thought, in his heart at that time, to be silly and unwarranted.

 _I should have gone with him, I should have **known** …But you **didn’t**!_ — _Fabulous, I am arguing with myself now. How mortifying, my madness is showing. Next thing I know, I will be taking my tea with **Balder**._

***

Even in his present state, Loki’s sarcasm remains intact; though the one target he has at the moment is himself…and only himself.

A snick of a lock, light grows, and the door to his prison thunders shut once more. The sound is so loud and so reminiscent of his absent heart that he longs to weep—and he would, if he hadn’t promised himself that he would save the rest of his tears for Thor. Thor, who is the only one still worthy of them.  Maybe Frigga as well, but Loki will cross that bridge when he comes to it.

The soft-soled boots pad closer and suddenly his head is wrenched back by the hair at the tender scalp skin near the crown of his head.

“Do you recant your lies, Odinson? Do you admit that you are full of nothing but twisted words and deceit, and will you accept your lot for your wretched tales?” _It is always so startling how hate makes her beautiful face so hideous_ , _I wish I could tell her. It would make her so **angry**_.

Loki does his best to spit at her _bitch’s face_ , he doesn’t succeed in getting that far, but he is momentarily satisfied by the rain of crimson that paints her tunic—droplets made smaller by these _unfortunate_ obstructions. His good humor was chased away by her closed fist as it connected with his left temple, making his head roll on his sore neck.

“Stay here and rot, then, you poisonous snake!” and with that she delivers a swift kick to the hip closest to her, making him gasp and shift his weight onto his other. Unfortunately, she notices his movement and pivots to reach his uninjured hip as well, to touch it with the same violence and malice. The physical attacks are just one more thing that continues to startle him.

Having accomplished, not all, but most of what she came here for, Amora strides out, her fists tight and back stiff.  She once again makes the door thunder as she slams it, causing another echo of ache to course through Loki.

Alone once more— _so alone_ —Loki drily sobs, giving in to his seemingly endless grief and pain with hitching breaths.  He touched his forehead to the grimy stone floor of his cell: the only movement that his kneeling position allows. She anchored him to the floor—chains connected to manacles at his elbows, wrists, and ankles, and a length of chain running from a collar around his throat, all to a ring in the stone between his naked thighs. His clothes were taken from him when one of the guards noticed the mess Amora had made of them—the kind one who tried to offer him water before retreating in horror at a glimpse of Loki’s abused face.  The boy didn’t mean for him to be humiliated by being stripped naked and while he was sitting here, chained like a dog; he _meant_ for a change of clothes to be brought in to the man he still sees as his prince.  Loki has been waiting for the change of clothes for four days now.  Waiting for a change of…anything really. ****


	2. Chapter Two

Thor followed his mother out of Freyja’s home, and called for Heimdall to open the bifrost, relieved to get back to Loki earlier than he had originally planned. Though premonitions and vague feelings are more along the lines of his mother, Thor has been feeling strangely uneasy being separated from his brother. 

Frigga turned back and smiled at him, “Come, my son. We must get you back to your family.”

“Thank you, mother. I do appreciate what you have accomplished for us—Loki and I—today.  And I do think that Sigyn would be happier without a union between her and Loki.”

“Happier because you now have no reason to dislike her?” Thor had the good grace to blush and look away at the raised eyebrows and the gentle scold in his mother’s voice, “I do wish you had told me of your relationship with Loki before now, Thor. I have more influence with your father than it might seem. I would have pled your case against this betrothal much earlier, my son.”

“I was wary of telling father. Though, in light of the recent events, I am ready to have it out in the open, just as Loki has wanted.  He is most likely confronting father as we speak. I told him to wait for me, but you know how he is.”

Frigga looked mildly perturbed, “It is fortunate that we have finished out business here, then.  I will feel better when we are home, my son.”

***

 

Loki turned from the parapet where he had been staring at the bridge that had so recently held his mother and brother. He decided to return to his chambers, intending to rest.  Yet, just as he was settling into bed a knock sounded at his door, and sounded again when he neglected to answer it. _Father doesn’t knock, it must be Sif or one of the Three…mercy, don’t let it be **all** of them… _ Loki sat up in his bed and waved the door open. On the other side of the threshold stood Amora: his most recent bane and annoyance.  _Wonderful, can I redact that thought? I’d much rather deal with all four of Thor’s lackeys…_

“Loki! How surprising for you to be abed at this hour! Are you not feeling well, my prince?” as she asked this she bounded onto his bed, roiling his stomach with distaste and inertia. _For the love of all things sacred, **I just washed these sheets!**_ _Had them washed…whatever. They were clean, and now they reek of whore._

“Do not presume to know my sleep habits. State your business and kindly leave me in peace.”

“What has you in such a state, my prince?” ­ _I am nothing of yours, you paltry charlatan,_ “I only inquire after your health,” the finger she dragged along his exposed forearm and the hand she placed on his thigh had nothing to do with his health.

Her actions forcibly reminded him of his last training session with her, when his mind temporarily slipped into hers, seeing her intentions.  Seeing how she plans to use him and his affections to get to his brother. How she _lusts_ for Thor. _His_ Thor.  The sickening drop of his stomach had nothing to do with distaste or inertia this time, but fear. __

Abruptly changing his plans for the day, Loki stood to get away from her too-intimate touches and his own thoughts, “My health is in perfect condition. If you will excuse me, I must speak with my father.”

“Speak with your father? But you were just lying in bed! Perhaps I should accompany you, Loki.”

“Obviously, I have changed my mind. Follow if you wish,” _Oh, you really shouldn’t wish…_

***

 

Thinking on the past helped Loki distance himself from the present: remembering the look on Odin’s face when he told him that Thor and Frigga had gone to Vanaheim, not to finalize the betrothal contract between himself and Sigyn, but to dissolve it, the rapture on Amora’s face when she thought that Loki was free for her taking (the path for her now clear to use him to get to Thor), the fury of both at his supposed deceit.

 _“Loki, your lies have angered me in the past, but that was nothing compared to now! How dare you say such a thing! What are you trying to accomplish, boy?”_ Odin’s rage at the perceived slight of his oldest son and heir.

 _“Father, please! Set aside your anger and listen! It is true that I have manipulated and deceived, it is my nature, father. Be that as it may, have you ever known me to jest about something as important as this? Have you ever known me to purposefully hurt Thor with my tricks?”_ —his own confusion and his father’s fury.

_“No, Loki, I have not,” Loki breathed a sigh of relief, “and that is precisely why I am so disappointed in you now!” Fear gripped him at his father’s words._

_“Father! Wait until mother and Thor return! He will tell you! They both will, mother doubtlessly knows!”_

_“You **dare** to bring your mother into your schemes?”_

Looking back, Loki should have noticed that this was out of character for his normally _rational_ father. He is ashamed to admit that in his terror and confusion he failed to register Amora’s hand in this, failed to hear her murmured words, failed to see her flicking fingers pointed in Odin’s direction. Looking back and pouring over his memories, he is able to put together the pieces of this twisted puzzle, but at the time…he had been nearly catatonic with fear. _That better have been the result of an influx of hormones. I cannot allow this to happen to me again, how embarrassing._ Of course, Odin was angry at the thought of his sons being embroiled in a passionate physical relationship and intending to marry each other; although it was not a completely uncommon practice, it disturbed him. Loki had expected that much. The uneasiness was visible in his eye and palpable in his words, but this unbridled wrath blindsided him and Loki was dumbfounded for the first time in recent memory.

After his father raised his voice at the inclusion of Frigga in Loki’s tale, he sent for the palace guards. Not  before he had grasped Loki’s thin wrist, however, and draining him of magical energy: _“What is a punishment if you could only slide out of it with the ease of the shadows?”_ _What indeed, Amora?_

***

 

Everything went very quickly after that: being thrown into this cell, somewhere very south of the main dining hall, the first visit from Amora when she magicked the chains and manacles, the second visit from Amora when she tried, and nearly succeeded, to break him and bound him further, the third when she had him stripped and the fourth when he spat at her. _It’s the small pleasures, really._

After the first visit Loki hasn’t seen her use magic, _she must be **exhausted** keeping The Allfather’s mind fogged._ She even had a guard physically rip the blood soaked clothes from him on visit number three. Loki wasn’t even allowed to keep them as mementos. As a reminder of all she had cost him, the unlucky bitch. _Unlucky, oh yes. What a lovely way to describe her. What a lovely way to think of her. Because how will she be when her house of cards falls apart? Oh, so **very** unlucky._

Loki hasn’t any magic left to him, after Amora had Odin drain him. With no magic and no clothes and no happiness, all he has is his mind. So he uses it. He imagines every possible scenario, every possible way to plot her ruin. There are variables, yes, but the structure will always remain the same. Father will be punished enough when, upon surfacing from Amora’s fog, he will see what has befallen his line. The only thing that is unpredictable is Thor.  What will Thor do when he sees his beloved brother and lover chained naked to the ground? Bloody and bruised and tortured? What will Thor _do_ when he walks into this cell and sees what has become of Loki? _What will Thor **do** when he realizes what Amora has taken from them?_ And with the first smile he has had in the four days he has been here —menacing, haunting, and violent though it is—Loki reaches the only possible answer: everything. Thor will do _everything._ And it will be _glorious._


	3. Chapter Three

Loki has been honing his magic for so long that—even for Odin—is it nigh on impossible to take all of it away from him. It is in his very blood. He has been using what little he has retained to keep up the circulation in his legs as he kneels there. It was the second day he has been in this cell with no food, no water, and no visitors, save Amora when she came to chain him to the floor just after his imprisonment.  It was just as this thought passed when the heavy iron door to the outside world was pulled open. Loki glanced to the intruder and momentarily let go of his tenuous hold on his magic, lest Amora notice—even with her diminished power. 

“I am not sure why you insist on visiting, Amora. I rather thought you got all of your rage out on me when you chained me here. Come to beg for secrets on how to woo my brother? I _do_ know that is what you truly desire. Do you wish to know how to _please_ him? Well, if that is the case you _must_ cease being a miserable impotent hag. You think abusing me will endear you to him? You are _nothing. Nothing to him! Nothing to me! NOTHING TO ANY—,”_ Loki was cut off by a kick to his chin. He could feel his back molars jar loose from their roots with the impact, and he briefly mourned them. He spat a mouthful of blood at Amora’s feet and looked her in the eye. When he spoke, it was in a soft, menacing whisper.

“Do you know why you are nothing to him? Because I am everything. I am everything, and I _hold_ everything! Thor will never forgive your treatment of me and neither will mother. And it warms my black little soul to think about how the Allfather will react when your tenuous hold on your magic finally fails you. Even if they held no love for me, they would never forgive you. Would you like to know why? Shall I let you in on my secret?” He could tell that his blood-flecked grin unnerved her, _splendid._

“What, Loki? What lies do you have for me? What secret could you possibly have that I couldn’t replicate? What _good_ are you to them, broken and feeble as you are? When I stand here, with even Odin the Allfather in my thrall? What could you have that trumps me, Loki? _WHAT!?”_ Her madness crested with every word.

“They will forever love me over you because I have something that you do not. Something that Thor has given me, which he will _never_ give to you.”  _Chew on that, you insane cunt—oh the Midgardians have such wonderful curses._

Her eyes were wild, and froth was collecting at the corners of her delicate mouth with every second that her fury intensified, “Tell me! TELL ME OF THIS ADVANTAGE YOU BELIEVE YOU HAVE! _TELL ME, ODINSSON, BEFORE I RUIN YOU! WHAT HAS THOR GIVEN YOU?”_

Loki’s grin twisted higher, contorting his face into a beautiful mask of taunting and wrath, “What, you ask? Why, his seed, Amora. _Oh,_ and it’s just so _potent_!”

Her eyes narrowed and she calmed a bit in confusion, “Is that supposed to mean something important to me? That you’re a whore? I already knew _that_!”

 _Charming._ “Oh pooh, I should have remembered that subtlety evades you. No matter, I’ll spell it out for you. What in the _Nine Realms_ could the _potent seed_ of Thor the Thunderer _possibly_ grow into inside such a powerful magical being as myself? I hold our child within me, Amora. The twice royal, newest son of Asgard. Not even you would dare to harm me further knowing I bear the progeny of _both_ princes.”

***

 

The guard outside the prince’s cell was frightened.  He watched the evil witch walk in just under a quarter of an hour ago when the prince’s voice rose in a hideous cackle.

All sound was muted by the thick door, but he could still hear the witch’s screams, “LIES! YOU LIE!” and the mocking laughter reaching a fevered pitch, until, with a final screech of indignant fury from the witch, the prince is cut off.

All was silent for just shy of 2 minutes when the screaming had begun.

***

 

Loki gasped desperately and clawed at his magic, any and all that was left of it. Scratched and scraped until all of it was in a meager pile around his abdomen. He saw the kick coming, and time seemed to slow: he couldn’t move, he couldn’t duck. All he could do was hope, and pray and _beg_ that his residual magic was enough to protect the babe within him.

Loki felt the blow through to his spine, but it ached in his heart.  _How far gone is she that harming the child of The Thunderer arouses no fear in her?_

He could barely catch his breath when Amora knelt down beside him and twisted his hair to bare his throat and shoved her face into his, every pore of her countenance bleeding insanity.  When she spoke, it was with a horrifying giggle and whispered sweetly into his ear; even under his involuntary wails, he could hear her.

“Oh Loki, how terrible of you! What would your brother think of your wretched lies? I will fix it for you. I will fix your mouth and silence your lies forever!” Though her skin was sagging with the effort to keep Odin bewitched, the righteous smile on her face made her vibrant. Vibrant and utterly terrifying.

Loki was transfixed as she pulled a leather thong from her bodice and whispered a word, sharpening and honing one end of the leather until the tip shone cruelly like a thick needle made of glass. He could see that it taxed her, but in her madness she paid it no mind. She continued to giggle wetly.

“I’ll fix you, Loki, and daddy will love you again!” her laughter barely pausing to get the words out, and she gently stroked his lips before wrenching them open, smile shining beatifically underneath eyes full of hatred.


	4. Chapter Four

When Thor and Frigga stepped onto the bridge, home at last, Heimdall was upon them.

“I don’t generally turn my gaze to the palace, but I have honored your wishes, prince. I have attempted to check on Prince Loki.”

“Attempted, Heimdall?” Thor’s unease becoming increasingly more insistent.

 “He is hidden from me, your highness. I can’t see him at all.”

Thor wasted no more time talking to Heimdall, and left his mother to answer and adhere to etiquette. _I knew something was amiss. What has happened to him?_

He rushes to the throne room and throws open the doors to his father’s sanctuary.

“FATHER!”

***

 

The next day, Loki was roused once again by the door. This time it was opened with a gentleness that had his pulse quickening, fearing that Amoras’ madness has escalated so far as to make her wary of him. _I don’t know if my body can handle any more of her negative emotions._

“Prince Loki. I have brought you some water, your highness. I’ve—,” The poor man’s voice dropped off when Loki turned his eyes to him.

“…my prince, what has she done to you?” The terrified whisper hiccoughs off into a sob and Loki thinks: _It appears there are tears yet left to shed for you, Loki Odinson. Be grateful._

The young man called another guard to alert the king, hoping that Odin will at least allow his son to change out of the clothes that are covered in his own gore. Breeches soaked through with crimson. The guard tried to pet the prince’s hair and murmur comforting nothings, but the ball of fear churning in his gut obstructed his good intentions. 

“Look at you Loki, you’re _filthy_! Let’s clean you up, hmm?” The guard’s hands clenched at Amora’s sweet voice. Not sweet like candy, or ripened apples. Sweet like the smell of days old carrion: fetid and with metallic undertones.  “You! Strip him!”

The guard looks at Loki, apology in his eyes and began to gently ease the garments off of him. The man didn’t know what to do when the clothing stopped at the chains. “What are you waiting for?!” Spittle flew from her mouth, and she slapped the young man’s hand as he attempted to wipe it from Loki’s forehead.

“The—the chains, ma’am. You must release the chains, if you want the clothes to come off,” he stumbled over his words in his fear, and didn’t raise his eyes from the bound prince.

“Release the _chains_? So they employ simpletons at the Asgard palace now? Apparently! You have a sword, _cut the mess off,_ ” she grabbed his shoulder and forced him closer to the ground as she drew his sword when he balked.

 “Like _this_!” And with that she began to hack at bunched breeches, sparks flying as the sword struck the taut chains, nicking and slicing Loki’s skin in the process and eliciting muffled groans.

“Yes, ma’am! I see now! Thank you for showing me, I can take it from here, _please,_ ” the guard all but begged, and when she returned his sword he went about splitting seams with the blade and tearing them by hand instead. He didn’t want to injure the prince any more than he already had been.

The guard was reassigned after this, and Loki never did get that change of clothes.

***

 

“Thor? What are you doing home so early? Did solidifying the contract truly only take four days?” Odin seemed a bit confused, but he spoke soundly.

“Husband, we did not solidify it. We dissolved it. Thor has told me that Loki was to explain this to you,” Frigga seemed calm, but Thor could see the widening of her eyes. They both knew that nothing would have stopped Loki from enlightening his father; nothing stops him when he has an agenda in mind. Something must be wrong.

“Thor?” Odin seemed surprised, “Loki spoke the truth then? You have broken the contract to have him for your own?” his eye was blinking rapidly, and he had a small frown on his face, like he was attempting to grasp some truth that was consistently evading his touch.

“Father, where is Loki now? Heimdall said he could not see him when he turned his gaze to Asgard,” the growl in his voice bordered on insolence.

“I do not—Thor, I do not remember,” Odin seemed to anger at that. It became apparent that someone had gotten one over on the king of the gods. Odin immediately sought to blame his youngest, “I sense Loki’s hand in this. Hiding from Heimdall is one thing, but tampering with my memories?”

“Father! I highly doubt that Loki would have jumbled your memories! He may be a trickster, but he knows better than that. And he wouldn’t risk punishment at a time like this!”

“Prove me wrong, boy!” Odin’s voice echoes in the large room.

Thor began to heatedly debate with himself on whether or not to shake his father when a young man in guardsman livery rushes into the throne room. Turning to scold him for trespassing and interrupting, Thor notices that the boy’s face is wet with tears. His cheeks crinkling as if the saline has been flowing long enough for layers to dry and coat him like a second skin. His voice is hardly decipherable as he throws himself down, burying his face into Thor’s knees as the prince looks helplessly at his mother.

Frigga bends to stroke the boy’s hair as she tries to calm him, but still only a few words make it through the sobbing. Both Thor and Frigga are wondering what could have set this young, fierce warrior on such a hysterical edge. What horrible thing is lurking in their home?

“I’ve been trying…nearly a whole day….please, _please_ … _monster_ …save him…she’s…kill him… _please_...Prince…I _tried_ … ** _Loki_** ,” Thor’s arms fly down to the guard’s shoulders and he lifts him enough to look into his eyes.

“Loki? Where? Where is he?! Can you take me to him?” With this the boy hiccoughs and nods quickly, taking off at a run when Thor releases him.

Their path takes them to the dungeons in the lowest level of the palace. Even from under so much mortar and stone the sudden storm outside is a constant accompaniment to their hurried footsteps.


	5. Chapter Five

Loki is still leaning forward, trying to ease the ache in his hips and valiantly attempting to reign in his whimpers— _the more sound I make, the more it hurts—_ when the cell door explodes inward for the second time that day. _Please, gods no! I have barely been able to endure one visit from her a day! Twice will surely end me!_

The groan of pain and horror is definitely not what Loki expects, “Brother! My love, what has happened?”

Thor’s groan seamlessly escalates into a howl of rage as he enters further and Loki comes into sharper view.  The palace howls with him as the storm outside batters it, nature’s natural ferocity enhanced with Thor’s fury.

***

Frigga enters the dungeon just in time to see Thor heft Mjolnir from his belt and fling it into the wall opposite Loki in anger. With his hands free he reaches down to yank the ring from the floor between Loki’s legs, stripping it of its threading. 

“ _Thor!”_ Frigga screamed.  Further words stuck in her throat as she watches her oldest attempt to free her youngest of the chains that bind him. Even with the ring now out of the way, the manacles still remain, but the slack in the chains allow for movement.

Thor stretches out Loki’s legs as he lays him down on the cold floor, and he brings a trembling hand to caress Loki’s battered face. His brother’s normally flawless appearance now a mix of mottled blues and greens where his skin shows through the blood caked on his jaw. Thor reaches into his belt for his dagger, his face a mixture of determination and heartbreak, and he eases it toward his brother’s mouth. Seeing this, Frigga flings herself further into the room, thinking to stay Thor’s hand.

Before she makes it close enough to grab him, her eyes alight on her younger son and her breath catches in her chest.  She stands dumbfounded, her mind not quite allowing her to make sense of what she is seeing.

A thick leather thong laced her beautiful son’s lips closed as if they were no more than a sturdy hunting boot, and not her boy’s most wonderful instruments of mischief. Blood oozed out of the holes and along the leather, staining it red where it touches his mouth.  The ends of the lace are wrapped back and around his neck, the brown of the leather merging with the red of his blood somewhere behind and under his ears.

She watches as Thor tenderly works through the lacing with his dagger, one stitch at a time to save Loki unnecessary pain. She watches as his shoulders shake with silent fury, but his hands are steady as he works.  Frigga calls for a healer and waits, offering silent comfort to both of her sons.

***

 

Thor is nearly done removing the leather from Loki’s torn lips when Amora arrives instead of the healer Frigga has called. 

“Thor! The lies he was telling! The horrible falsehoods about you, I made him stop, Thor! I made him stop for us!” She grabs at his arms and buries her face in his hair. Odin shoulders his way into the small cell just in time to see his oldest son grab the woman by the throat and toss her into the far wall. Loki lets loose a thin moan at Thor’s jostling.

Thor strokes a hand down his brother’s face, “Hush, my love. I am almost done,” and he removes the last stitch.

Bending to bring his face to Loki’s, heedless of the quivering lump of dazed witch on the floor behind him, Thor licks at a trickle of blood that escapes the corner of his brother’s lips. Mouthing at Loki’s wounds, he peppers the beloved face with kisses stained crimson, trying to cleanse the piercings in the most archaic and intimate way he knows how. With a question in his eyes, his large hand strays to Loki’s abdomen to splay just beneath his navel. He hears the gasps of the women and his father as he sees Loki groan and shake his head and whisper, “I don’t know, Thor,” but disregards the others in favor of breathing love into his brother and licking and kissing away the pain that leaked from Loki’s eyes, his shoulders hunched in on themselves in a way that no one has ever seen from his proud form before. The heartbreak was palpable, and Frigga found that she could barely breathe. 

Seeing his sons, faces pressed together, his youngest quivering and broken and his eldest brought so low, helps Odin to see through some of the fog in his mind, the emotional overload shining through like a beacon. He takes advantage of his diminishing confusion to gather his internal power, forcing it outward and shattering the binds that have been placed on his mind.

Frigga turns from the scene before her at the crash of Odin’s gauntlet on the stone wall to see her husband, fist clenched around the witch’s throat and pinning her to the wall. The sound also rouses Thor’s attention and he finally turns from Loki,

“NO! I claim her, father! I claim the right to punish her for her wrongs against my mate and my unborn child! I CLAIM THE RIGHT!” Even Odin realized the futility of denying his son in this. Thor was magnificent in his anger, face flushed red and furrowed with rage, and though he _could_ deny him, he feels that a refusal is not worth the added anger it would bring to his sons.

“I grant you this, my son. Her punishment shall commence two days hence—,” he was cut off by Thor’s angry growl,

“Now! I will have satisfaction for her deeds _now._ ” The healer that Frigga has called finally rushes in to see one prince in a barely contained wrath and the other lying in a grisly scene, painted with the flaking residue of his blood.

Throughout the exchange between her oldest son and her husband, Frigga watches as the healer tends to Loki.  She notices the wicked gleam in her youngest son’s eyes and for once she wholeheartedly embraces his nature.  The witch will have what is coming to her, and her reckoning will not be swift, will not be merciful, and it will not be painless. Her boys will see to that, and Frigga takes a moment to be grateful that magic allows blood to be washed easily from stone.

Walking over to Loki, she bends to press a kiss to his forehead, whispering “Whatever you are planning, make it sting, my love,” She wipes a sweaty lock of hair from his face, looking into his suddenly innocent eyes, and softly smiles at him, “burn her from the inside out, darling, for your brother will be burning her from the outside in,” a kiss to his cheek, “Meet in the middle and scorch her bones,” her voice, uncharacteristic in its harshness, causes Loki’s innocent mask to slip.

With that, Frigga stepped back and let the healer continue his work while her youngest looks at her with a bemused expression, half surprise and half admiration. Frigga meets his look with another soft smile and a gentle wink, it is difficult for her to keep her composure as she witnesses the wreckage of her son’s lips and skin, but, ever the pragmatist, she decides that there is enough anger in this room to make it beyond stifling already, and that is not what a healing boy needs.  She watches as Loki lays his head back on the floor and turns his face to look at Thor.


	6. Chapter Six

Thor’s hands were shaking with the force of his rage. He could smell it rolling off of himself, acrid and heady like old blood, and the way it mingled sweetly with the metallic tang of Loki’s suffering was almost erotic.  He looks at this wench who dared to abuse his love and felt the rage bubbling out of his mouth in a growl that shakes his frame. She falls to her knees.

“Thor! My love, I did it for you! I did it for us! He is a liar! A snake who would poison you against me! Thor, please…” her sentence gutters out like a candle in a storm as Thor tears her from his father’s grip.

He tosses her to the ground and pulls a thick coin from his pocket, “You will take this, and you will transform it. You will turn this coin into a needle and you will do it _now._ ”

Sputtering, her face incredulous, “Bu-but Thor…I would have to use the same mass of the coin for the needle. It would be far larger than a normal needle…”

“Yes, I know.” His grin has a wicked edge to it, sharp and unforgiving. Loki stares, longing to know what that smile would taste like; how deep would it cut him? If his tongue would remain unscathed or not and how his blood would taste mixed with Thor’s fury. _A wound gladly taken, even with my mouth already abused so. I bet it would taste of nearly ripe berries, sweet but also bitter and utterly addicting._ He _craves_ it.  

Amora’s face is confused and slightly afraid as she does what Thor has commanded her. _She is so unhinged that she doesn’t even have the sense to be terrified. Oh, her surprise will be **exquisite**_. Thor takes the thick needle; it’s crude with Amora’s magical depletion, like someone had rolled it into a cone while the gold was still hot.  Crouching, Thor takes another small dagger from his belt and forces the point into the thicker end of the needle, piercing the soft metal with a rough triangular hole. He holds it up for Amora to see, and Loki’s stomach clenches with desire at the spiteful smile on his lover’s face and the horror on that bitch’s. Smiling with pride, _Oh, Thor! I have been such a **terrible** influence on you!_ Loki is immensely thankful that the pain keeps his body from responding to the sight of Thor being so _cunning_. _How embarrassing it would be to be naked and erect in front of mother and father?_ He looks down at his cock, just to make sure it is still quiescent, and his eyes fall to his abdomen instead. A tide of grief threatens to derail him, but he fights it back dragging a palm over his belly as if trying to rub away Amora’s influence, wanting to catch every moment of her agony and fill himself with her anguish where she left him empty. He wants to gather and strengthen her pain so that he may force feed it back to her when his brother is finished.

Thor sets the needle aside as he grasps Amora’s ankle as she tries to put distance between them. He pulls her forcefully toward himself and, calling Mjolnir from where it was embedded in the wall, he sets the hammer atop her chest, pinning her squirming body to the ground. Ignoring her, he sits back up on his heels and extends his left leg, shifting his weight to rest atop his right foot he tears at his boot lace, ripping the thick leather strip from the eyelets. He grasps either end of the long piece of leather and snaps it in two, setting one half aside. Thor locks his eyes with Amora’s as he spears one end of the boot lace still in his hand through the eye of the needle he forced her to make.

Amora is screaming now, clawing at Mjolnir and shoving with every ounce left of her strength, leaving bloody rivulets where her fingernails caught on the handle and tore, snagging the cuticles and tearing at the soft flesh underneath them. Loki lets his eyes drift closed as he struggles to breathe, _I was right: **glorious**_. He snaps his eyes back open to see Thor setting the threaded needle aside and lifting Mjolnir from Amora’s chest, allowing her to breathe a single sigh of relief, before he settles his right knee on her sternum, between and just under her breasts.

Mocking smile gone now, Thor’s face is a twisted mask of fury as he grabs Amora’s right hand. Using his left hand to hold her forearm to the floor he throws his right hand, knuckles white around Mjolnir’s handle, up over his head. The terrible roar that escapes his clenched teeth make the witch’s eyes roll in their sockets, lids wide and whites showing like a frightened beast’s.  She is quiet now, not quite understanding what is going to happen to her, but even she can hear the promise of pain in his yell.

The resounding crash thunders through the room, bouncing off of the stone and striking the occupants like lightning. All is quiet for a beat before Amora’s hysterical screams tear the air. _Oh, they sound how pain **feels**. Brother, you are so good to me!_ Loki peers at the carnage. At first he can’t quite comprehend what he is seeing, the end of her arm looks like an artist’s studio: all paint, torn clay and strings of beads. It takes a moment for his brain to grasp that the paint is her blood, the clay her skin, and the beads the loose ligaments and bone fragments. Thor had struck her wrist and hand, the skin there caught between the stone and Mjolnir is plastered against the floor like smeared wax, pink and smooth. _Yes, wax fits better than clay, I think,_ Loki says to himself as he takes stock of the wreckage before him. The very tips of her fingers remain untouched by the hammer, and the contrast between them and the smear of flesh on the floor is obscene to look at and Loki loves it.

Frigga and Odin are stunned, the poor healer is horrified, and Loki is rapturous. All four of them stare in silence with their variety of emotions at their prince; no matter what their initial reaction is, it’s blended with awe.

Thor, taking no notice in how his spectacle is affecting his family, methodically continues. Leaning over, he catches Amora’s flailing whole arm in his left hand and goes to pin the forearm to the ground. Now knowing what is to become of her remaining hand, Amora tries to fight him. Loki sees this and lets out a malicious chuckle, earning a sharp glance from the man treating him. Thor carries on, unhurriedly pressing her arm down, Loki sighs as the futility of her situation washes over her face. The same moves, the same roar, and the same resounding crash. The only thing that is missing is the beat of silence afterward, and Loki lets loose a low hum of satisfaction at the hiccoughing sobs and wails that wrench themselves from her chest, as if the sounds themselves are trying to escape her tortured body.

Amora thrashes her head from side to side as Thor replaces his knee once again with Mjolnir.  Sobbing still, she turns her face from Thor. Loki grins wildly as her eyes open; their gazes connect as they lay on the floor next to each other. The dichotomy of their situation tickles Loki; he matches her whimpers of pain with his unrestrained giggles. As he is being healed, she is being broken; as he is being loved, she is being loathed; as he is feeling ecstasy in his brother, she knows nothing but agony, and yet there they both lie: parallel and in a mess of her making.  Only the shadow of his loss keeps Loki from completely immersing himself in the hilarity.

Picking up the discarded, needle-less half of his bootlace, Thor removes Mjolnir and pulls Amora by her throat to sit up. Wrenching her elbows behind her, he binds them together tightly, uncaring of the flaps and folds of the nearly-liquid skin and tissue that used to be her wrists and hands, and he shoves her back down atop them, replacing his weapon to hold her down. Amora’s voice is gone now, her throat run ragged by the force of her howls. _I suppose one cannot have everything…_ Loki struggles to sit up, slapping away the healer’s hands still pressing stones to his wounds, and angles himself to get a clear view of her bloodshot eyes. _Oh, but the tears clinging to her lashes are just so precious._ _She looks like a broken little doll, how lovely!_

Picking up the threaded needle, Thor straddles Amora’s shoulders and shoves his hand under the wench’s chin and pushes, angling her head up and holding her mouth closed. He brings the needle to her lips and with agonizing slowness he begins to stitch them together. His face no longer warped with rage, his expression is nearly calm, and every pained breath taken and whispered whimper fall on his deaf ears. When he finishes, Thor pulls the ends of the lace, tightening his stitches as a wife might do when mending clothes.

He then casually wipes his hands on her tunic and stands to face his father. Bending to grasp the top of her head he pulls on the blonde hair like a leash, making her stagger and sway, crawling after him on her knees. Thrusting her at Odin, he speaks for the first time since her punishment began, “Here father. I am finished,” And he turns away, leaving her to the Allfather.

A wheezed and coughed breath makes him turn back, looking at the pathetic sight of the broken woman who still gazes at him with the smallest glimmer of hope in her eyes, “Wait,” he says, and the glimmer grows even as he glares at her, “I repudiate you…I repudiate you, and you mean nothing. You _are_ nothing, and I _see_ _nothing_ ,” Thor turns away once more, this time to the sound of her forehead cracking on the stone when she falls forward in despair; Loki looks at her, with her head bowed to the dirty floor and her arms tied and her face a mess of tears and blood, really _looks_ at her—knowing that less than an hour ago he was in the same position: broken, hopeless, and afraid. 

He takes a moment to wonder if he should be content with her situation; should he be satisfied with a debt repaid with no interest? With an evening of the scales, but no fee for the crime? She mourns her hands and her love of Thor, her mouth is mutilated and her dreams crushed.  Is that enough? He sighs and looks down at his hands; a trickster and a lie-smith he may be, but he has never taken pleasure in the true pain of others.  But what is a pair of hands to a child? To the pain she has caused his family? To the depression he feels, like a hard ball in his abdomen, where life should be? And what is an hour’s worth of torment to days? _Days_ , with nothing but pain, anguish, and the blows of her sick amusement?  And as he looks up at Thor and imagines the heartache that will soon mar his beautiful face, how he will be able to mark the path of grief as it takes over his brother, Loki hardens his heart against her.  _Nothing,_ he decides, _her pain is **nothing** in the face of ours. _

As Thor approaches Loki his eyes soften and he smiles gently, “Come brother, let us get you to a healing room,” and he tenderly lifts the naked body of his love.

Loki wraps his arms around Thor’s shoulders and peers at Frigga on his way out smiling with wide eyes and mouths to her, _He burned her heart **for** **me** , mother! So considerate!_ And Frigga can do nothing but nod blankly, still a bit shocked by the ferocity she witnessed in her oldest son today. She turns to Odin and they share a glance before his arm shoots out to halt Thor. _Yes,_ Loki thinks, _he **has** burnt her heart…but I will still have my turn. _  
  
Loki starts as his father’s grip on his arm interrupts his thoughts; Odin addresses the younger man, “Forgive me, my son,” and with that he releases the block on Loki’s magic. Loki put Amora out of his mind as father and son lock eyes, and Odin knows that he is not held at fault, but not entirely forgiven either. He will be the butt of many tricks once Loki is completely healed, and Odin grips the smaller fingers to press a kiss to side of Loki’s palm in acquiescence.  Loki smiles and shakes off his father’s hand to softly pat the whiskered cheek. He throws a wink over Odin’s shoulder to Frigga and tugs sharply on the grizzled beard, laughing as Odin’s eye goes round and a startled “Oomph!” escapes the king.

“A healing room, brother?” Loki asks as Odin grumbles and smoothes a hand over his beard and Frigga hides a smile.

***

“Aye, brother. Lead the way, healer!” He addresses the man still looking at the woman on the floor, discarded like a broken toy.

“What about Lady Amora, my prince?” he asks.

“Who?” the reply startles a laugh out of Loki, _oh Thor! Just wait until we are alone again, brother! I won’t be able to walk for **days**! _ He grimaces at that thought, _and since I **already** can’t walk, I suppose it won’t require much of an effort, will it? Fine. We’ll fuck until **you** can’t walk either. _ While Loki is having his internal conversation Odin just sighs, “Bring her along, I suppose. I need to know the extent of Loki’s injuries before I can decide what to do with her.”


	7. Chapter Seven

Loki is lying down in a healing room with Thor, sitting on the bed, fingers laced with his. Frigga and Odin stand a bit farther away with Amora sniveling on the ground behind them, and everyone but Loki and the witch are waiting for the news on the unborn child who was still within Loki when Thor and Frigga departed four days earlier. Amora is still convinced that there never was a child, and Loki already knows that there isn’t one anymore. A healer, different than the one who had tended him earlier, stood opposite Thor.

Loki, turned wide eyes to the healer, “I tried to consolidate the dregs of my magic to keep the blood in my legs circulating while I was kneeling. I tried to use what was left of it to shield the babe when she…” a hitching sob, “when she delivered the blow to my abdomen. I—I thought it might be enough,” a glance down, then back up again, with tears now gathering in the corners of his eyes and whispering, “I’ve been pregnant not even a full three months yet. Hardly even rounded. _Please…_ I bled so _much_ …,” and he artfully trails off.

The speech was as much to inform the healer as it was to jab at Odin for blocking his power, and glancing from beneath lowered lashes Loki takes pleasure in the shamed rosiness of his father’s cheeks. He considers it worth the tear that makes its way down his mother’s face. _I wish I could spare her the dramatics, but there will be tears aplenty anyway when the news is negative._

“I am sorry, my prince,” a whining groan sounded into Loki’s hair where Thor had pressed his face, shoulders shaking.

The healer continued in a neutral and sterile voice, “When magicks are depleted in such a way they tend to put priority over certain things to…compensate for their weakness. Perhaps if—well, that is to say—your power instinctively deemed you the priority, because it’s a part of you—it _is_ you. What happened was that the blow struck both you _and_ the child, that couldn’t have been helped. But what your magic did, was it kept the dead fetus from poisoning your body. That is why you bled out so much. That wasn’t just from your own veins, Prince Loki. The blood is what the deceased fetus was…converted into, I suppose, so your body could expel it and keep you alive,” he paused here and continues in a gentle voice, “You have all of our condolences your highnesses. As always, if you are in need of anything, anything at all…” he left the rest unspoken, the two princes were absorbed in each other and their grief, and they no longer listened.

He turned to the Allfather and addressed him instead, leaving the princes to their grief, “The realm mourns for the son lost, my king. When the princes deign to try for another child, please tell them that they have the whole of the healing guild at their service, as always,” with that he bows and leaves the royal family with their grief.

Though Loki knew in his heart that the child had not made it, hearing the reasons rent his soul in two, and made his desire for vengeance burn anew. With that bitter thought in mind he kisses his love, prying the seam of Thor’s lips apart with his tongue and sighing into his brother’s mouth as he returns to where he belongs. He hears Frigga and Odin making their way to the door to give their sons privacy and his ears catch on the shuffling gait of the bitch who murdered his child.  

Sparing a breath to mourn the loss of contact as he rips his lips from Thor’s he growls at Odin, “ _Leave her._ ”

Odin looks at his son, puzzled and wary, “Loki, she has already proven herself dangerous—,”

“She is depleted! I can _feel_ the absence of her power! She is nothing, but if it would make you feel better then block her, father. Your magical blocks are so _very_ effective,” Poison dripping from every word, he almost smiles at his father’s wince.

Odin lays his palm on her shoulder, for lack of a better place, and removes her access to her power.

“Usually I would do use the pulse point at the wrist, but well…” he blinks slowly and smirks at Thor, “I will position a guard outside, just in case,” and they walk out, leaving Amora inside the room with the two princes.


	8. Chapter Eight

Once Odin shut the door after Frigga Thor turns to Loki, “Did father just wink at me?”

This shocks a laugh out of Loki as he stares into his brother’s incredulous eyes, “How would I know? He only has the _one_ eye, Thor! He could have very well been blinking!”

“I think it was a wink. I think Odin the Allfather just _winked_ at me,” they shared a laugh, the tension broken and their pain set aside for a moment.

Loki resumes where he left off, pressing kisses to his brother’s parted lips and they passed chuckles back and forth. A thought in mind, Loki begins to kiss and lick at his Thor’s neck, turning his eyes from the woman valiantly attempting to look away from the lurid sight on the bed not five feet away from her.  _Oh, well now that won’t do at all!_ He lets green fire flow from his fingers from behind his brother’s back. Using his newly returned magic, Loki forces Amora’s shoulders and head flat against the wall opposite from the bed, making her unable to move from that position, gaze turned on him and his brother. For good measure he removes the lids from her eyes, her wretched whine accompanied by the sound of tearing taffy, _well that’s disgusting…_ he then cauterizes the wounds so that not even her blood will obstruct her view of them.

“Do you mind if she is here, brother?” He asks Thor, as if an afterthought.

“I am sure I don’t know who you are talking about, we are quite alone,” the words are slightly muffled in between kisses and gentle nips placed to Loki’s throat, but they are spoken loudly and wholly understandable. Loki chuckles at this, knowing it was for her benefit, _well… **detriment** …_

Moaning provocatively, Loki pulls Thor’s hair aside, and mouths wetly at his brother’s ear, nipping the lobe and tracing the ridge with his tongue. Tossing one last lazy grin in the face of Amora’s suffering, Loki bends to the task of making love with Thor with wild abandon—or he _would_ if Thor would let him.

The Thunderer is treating Loki like spun glass; _I suppose it **is** warranted._ Loki understands Thor’s need to treat him tenderly. Loki’s legs are still not fully cooperative, and they did just lose their child… he feels a twinge of heartache at that; he must admit that he is feeling a bit tender himself. So he lets Thor treat him like a he will shatter at the lightest touch, and he relaxes into the gentleness of their lovemaking, allowing his brother to control the pace. _With us it won’t stay so gentle for long_ , he thinks, knowing Thor’s impatience and his own ability to needle his brother into action will soon take over, but for now he revels in the sweetness.

Thor’s roughened palms slide the bedding down Loki’s body, uncovering the pale planes and angles of his brother’s skin, somewhat still stained with the purple-ish blues of his bruises.

Thor spares a moment of anger at the sight of the marks, but the need to reaffirm, not only their bond, but Loki’s vitality as well, takes precedence over everything else.  He presses his cheek against the skin above his brother’s heart, just listening to the rhythm for a moment, using it to ground himself in the reality of Loki’s continued existence.

After a few moments, Loki tugs at Thor’s hair in impatience, “ _Brother._ ”Thor rolls his head up to rest his chin on Loki’s chest, and gives him a grin.

“Do you require something, my _dear_ brother?” Thor’s eyebrows raise comically in question.

Loki answers by narrowing his eyes and breathing a few select words, and the resulting yelp is supremely satisfying— _well…not **supremely**...but we are getting to that, aren’t we?_

“Loki! Now that was just unsporting! I thought you said that you _liked_ the journey of uncovering my body?” Thor pouts a bit at finding himself completely naked, with just the skewed blanket between his skin and Loki’s, and even that is only between their lower bodies.

“And I do, brother. But I like the _journey_ of your claiming of me better. Please, Thor, must I beg?” Fixing widely rounded eyes on his brother, Loki bites his lip. _You will have me, Thor, and you will have me **now**! We will break her, brother, and we will do it **together**. _

Thor gently pries Loki’s mouth open, freeing his bitten lip as if unable to bear witness to further abuse on the soft skin, “No, love.”

And with that, he once again catches Loki’s mouth with his. Pressing needy kisses down Loki’s throat, he nips at the junction of his neck and shoulder and makes his way down his chest. Laving and tweaking his brother’s nipples to hardness, Thor hums a hushed growl at the feel of Loki’s body tightening beneath his.

By mutual consent, Thor pulls the bedding away, tossing it to the floor, and bypasses Loki’s abdomen (both unable to quite cross that bridge just yet) and Thor distracts them both by lavishing attention on Loki’s sharp hips. The bones flair and jut out like blades, yet the skin is softer than anywhere else on the trickster’s body. Thor can never get enough of the contrast here; it’s almost as if he has his brother’s whole being in his hands when he grasps his hips. The unyielding bones covered in silken skin, so hard yet so fine. It is here that he is reminded how strong his brother is, but also how delicate, and it sends a spike of lust up his spine.  Gripping the flesh above Loki’s hips Thor shudders out a groan at the feel of them in his hands. He hates that even _today_ , of _all_ days, he still loves this illusion of fragility, but he does. _Oh, he does._

Loki smirks then moans as Thor nibbles at his hips, first one and then the other, groaning like a wanton beast. Thor has never been able to control himself with it has come to Loki’s hips, so Loki rolls them, gently—he doesn’t want to dislodge those nipping lips. Thor rides the motion and pants wetly, mouthing his way toward his brother’s manhood. Loki is so hard now that his cock is valiantly straining to reach his navel.

Thor plants his nose in the soft skin between Loki’s sac and shaft, kissing and lapping at the sensitive skin under his mouth. Dragging his nose up the trickster’s cock, he gives a rough lick to the tender skin just under the head, and Loki clutches fistfuls of his brother’s hair, gasping for breath. Spreading his legs wider, he silently begs for more, and Thor delivers by easing his mouth over the spongy head and giving a firm suck. He waits there a few moments, alternately sucking and listening to the noises he wrings from his brother.

When Loki whimpers and pulls the at the hair on either side of his head to tug him closer, Thor hollows his cheeks and slides down Loki’s cock. He has never understood the Midgardian conception that fellatio is somehow debasing. Sucking Loki’s cock, impaling himself at the apex of his brother’s thighs is like nothing else he has ever felt. Holding all of this warmth within him, the tender skins of Loki’s manhood and Thor’s mouth and throat rubbing together and igniting.  Few things are more intimate than this joining of fragility and trust— _I’ll hold you here if you allow yourself to be held_. Thor could spend hours like this, losing himself in the feeling of _wetslideloveholdmineminemine._ Loki tries to buck, but Thor is still gripping his hips, preventing Loki from lodging himself fully in his brother’s throat. A frustrated growl leaves his throat, and Thor tilts his eyes up to look at him and gives a swallow.

“ _Brother_ , _please!_ ” And Thor hums lowly, sinking further onto Loki’s cock, rising again and repeating the process. He picks up the pace, lightly dragging his lower teeth along the large vein on the underside, and pulling whining and stuttering moans from the writhing body under him.  Thor’s hands are shaking with his arousal, now. It has only been four days without his love, but it seems like an eternity with the recent events. He wants to _own_ Loki; to own him in every way possible. So he plants his hands on the bed beside the beloved hips and reluctantly lifts his mouth off of Loki’s wet cock.

Looking at his brother with hooded eyes, Thor entreats him with the rasping burr of his voice, “ _Fuck me_ , brother. Fuck me like this. _I need you_.”

 _You love me, oh you love me. Thor, you **LOVE ME**!_ Loki’s new internal mantra reaches a fevered pitch as he arches his back and plants his feet as best he can, gripping Thor’s hair and thrusting into his mouth, feeling the tip of his cock bump the back of his brother’s throat. The wet clicking noises at the end of every thrust cause Loki’s thighs to tremble and his breathy moans to raise an octave.  Shaking his head side to side on the mattress, he catches a glimpse of the wench he had suck to the wall opposite of them. _Oh those **tears** , how sweet, they’re pink! I suppose I didn’t quite cauterize the lids all the way. Oh well! _He makes his derisive thoughts known to her with a whispered word and a twitch of a finger: _He needs this, darling. You heard him say it. I would have liked to see you try to fuck his throat with your **pussy**. _ And he cuts off the connection with a gleeful laugh at the devastation and _wrenching_ sorrow he feels in her mind. _How absolutely **lovely**._

Ignoring the hateful woman once more, he returns his full attention to Thor. He notices his brother’s eyes are filled with mirth, but since Frigga has always taught them to never speak with their mouths full, Thor remains quiet. For all of Thor’s protestations of any knowledge of Amora, Loki knows that he has guessed what he was up to in the past few moments. Loki winks lustily at him and thrusts hard, pulling Thor by the hair and watching his eyelids flutter closed, enjoying the vibrations from his brother’s pleased hum.

Saliva is leaking out of the corners of Thor’s mouth now, bathing Loki’s groin and Thor’s chin and throat. Gathering some of the slickness, Thor brings his wet fingers behind Loki’s sac and presses the skin there, earning a shocked gasp and a break in the rhythm of his hips.  Taking advantage of the trickster’s stillness for the moment, Thor swirls a finger around his brother’s entrance, tucking the tip in just slightly with every revolution.

“ _Thor_!Yes! More!” Loki pleads, spreading his legs ever wider, as wide as they can go, tendons stretched and straining to give the bigger man more room.

Manhandling Loki’s legs up to his chest and holding them there, Thor dives to replace that finger with his tongue.

“Oh my fucking— ** _Thor_**! _Bro—ther_!” He gasps; feeling Thor’s chuckles against his sensitive opening, _laugh all you want, brother, your oral fixation **owns** me!_

“Not quite ‘fucking Thor’ yet, dearest Loki. But soon. I must open you wide first, make you ready for me,” With that, Thor fixes his lips around Loki’s entrance and sucks, causing a hitching shout and deep groan, Loki’s thighs trembling once more.

“Please! Please now! Please, please, _please_ —,” Loki trails off as Thor lifts his head and twists in two slick fingers where his mouth has just been. He continues liking at the taut ring stretched around his fingers and places sucking kisses on the sides of Loki’s rim.

Thor gently inserts a third finger, mouth still working on the tight ring of skin, and taps each finger against Loki’s prostate, giving it a firm languorous stroke every third tap. He is thrusting his fingers to the rhythm of his tapping, and Loki can barely draw breath to moan.  He tries valiantly to thrust himself down onto Thor’s fingers and tongue, but his brother’s other arm is still holding one leg up to his chest, opening the Trickster further, but also keeping him in place.

Sweat is beading on their skins now, the air between them heated and raw. Thor pushes and pulls his fingers inside Loki, mouth gone now with the addition of a fourth finger. Kissing his way up Loki’s body, he stops here and there to plant sucks and kisses; the thin skin of his pelvis, his ticklish sides, his nipples, and all the way back up to his throat and jaw. Loki strains to meet his brother’s mouth with his.

“Loki, no. It’s unclean…” Loki growls and shoves his hand over Thor’s face, murmuring something that leaves his brother’s mouth tingling. Smacking his lips and wagging his tongue at the new fresh taste “What in the name of—,”

“Shut up and put your tongue in my mouth!” Dragging a chuckling Thor down for a kiss, Loki bites at his lips, putting an end to his laughter. 

Thor slides his fingers from within Loki, dragging a stumbling whine into his own mouth from Loki’s lips, and presses himself bodily against the slighter man, rubbing against him and pulling at the thighs that bracket his hips. He breaks the kiss to pant “I will have you now, brother. I _must_.”

“Do it. Do it do it do it! _Now_ , Thor!” He is barely coherent now, tugging his brother’s hair and clenching his knees around Thor’s hips, still unable to lift his legs completely on his own.

“Saliva is _not_ lubricant, Loki. We need something else…” Thor casts his eyes about, to see if there is anything that they might use to ease the burning of penetration. He finds nothing in his scan and turns helpless eyes to Loki, “Can’t you…” and he wiggles his fingers, indicating magic.

Loki flings his arm out, rolling his hand and groaning. A cabinet flies open and a squat jar of salve comes hurtling out of it, landing solidly in Loki’s palm. Thor takes it with a question, “What is it?”

“I don’t know, stuff? Use it!” He tugs harder on Thor’s hair.

Not one to delay, Thor coats his erection with the viscous salve. It’s clear and has no smell, so he figures it’s innocuous enough. Flinging caution into the wind and his brother’s legs over his shoulders, Thor plunges into Loki. Thrusting all the way to the hilt and holding for a breath, giving Loki as much adjustment time as he can manage, and starts with a strong, heavy pace. Their foreplay seemed to last for hours, and both of them are cresting the wave of pleasure, approaching the precipice and striving to be flung into oblivion.

The healing bed rocks and protests with the force of Thor’s thrusts as he pistons his hips against Loki’s. Loki drags his fingernails down Thor’s arms, digging into the dips of his muscles and leaving fiery red marks in his wake, adding another dimension to Thor’s pleasure; heightening it and giving it a sharp edge.  Thor rests his forehead against Loki’s, eyes open and faces so close they’re breathing each other’s breath instead of oxygen, leaving them both light-headed. Thor slides one of Loki’s legs off his shoulder so he can press closer, grunting and panting, blue and green collide and merge as they stare ever deeper into each other.

“ _Loki—_?” Thor rasps, dragging out the last syllable of his brother’s name, a question in the lilting word.

“Yes, brother. Do it! _Please_!” At this, Thor lets out a groaned sob, his back arching in a wave that ends with his hips crashing harder against Loki. A growl pulses through the air, so deep it makes Loki’s chest rumble in sympathy.  Thor’s back is bowed so much that he rests his forehead against Loki’s collarbone.   
He grabs his brother’s hands to lace their fingers together, pinning Loki’s hands down, elbows bent and wrists up by the trickster’s temples. His hips never halting or stuttering in their pace, the speed and ferocity of his thrusts nearly savage.

Loki lets his other leg slip from Thor’s shoulder and tilts his hips to rub the head of his cock against Thor’s belly, furiously pushing down onto Thor’s dick and then up onto his skin. “Thor, Thor, _Thor—gods, Thor! Gods—_ ,” Shuddering and trembling he spends himself, bathing his brother’s stomach and his own thighs in his come.  Thor lets loose a low whine, tossing his head up and thrusts once…twice more and seizes, coming hard within his brother. He softly thrusts a few more times, milking himself and coasting with Loki through their orgasms.

Thor catches himself on his elbows, lest he crush his brother beneath his bulk. He crumples one arm and rolls off to one side, pulling Loki close to him and wrapping his arms around the smaller man, cradling his head and splaying one massive hand across Loki’s lower back. The trickster says nothing, just turns into his brother’s warmth and burrows into that strong chest, nuzzling and sighing. Loki slides one arm around Thor’s waist, tracing circles with his fingers on his skin.  Thor reaches behind Loki to one of the blankets that they had discarded earlier. Dragging it toward him, he grips the corner and proceeds to clean himself and his brother. Swiping it across their bellies and thighs, and gently running it between Loki’s cheeks before he drops the soiled thing over the side of the bed and pulls the light sheet over them.

They fall asleep like that, tucked close to each other and basking in their shared heat. Gentle touches giving way to sleepy snuffles and soft snores.


	9. Chapter Nine

“I just don’t think we should have left her there with them, Odin…” Frigga’s soft words and worried countenance prompt the Allfather into action.

“Would checking on them alleviate your fears? I have posted a guard, and the walls of the healing chambers are thin. He should have been able to handle anything that arose, be we shall go and make certain. Will that comfort you?”

“Yes, I believe it should put my heart at ease, husband. Thank you.”

They make their way back across the palace to the healing rooms.

***

The guard stationed outside happens to be the very same one who helped Thor find Loki in the dungeon. He was feeling rather protective of the younger prince after his recent ordeal, and when the king had told him that the witch had been left in the room with the princes, he was aghast.

He leans against the door, straining to hear, just in case they have need of him. He is not about to let that woman harm the sons of Odin any more than she already has.

He hears a few loud noises and was about to go into the room, when he also hears a masculine laugh. It wasn’t booming like Thor’s, so it must have been Loki’s, and if Loki is alright then Thor must be as well.  The guard is satisfied for the moment and relaxes a bit. Laughter means no danger, right?

He rests there against the door, just listening. He heard both princes’ voices, indistinguishable, but he did hear them and they don’t sound like they’re in pain. He stays like this for a while, hearing the princes, but nothing of the… _woman_. Nothing seems out of the ordinary, until he hears a scream and a groan from inside the room. _Odinsons!_

Heedless of his own safety, he rushes into the room, ready to fight off whatever is giving the princes trouble. As he crosses the threshold he stops in his tracks and stares at the scene on the bed before him. Thor has his head buried between Loki’s thighs, eating him out while Loki squeals, whines and twitches, gripping Thor’s hair in ragged clumps and pulling his brother closer. _Oh…gods…_ A muffled sound catches his attention and he looks to his right. There, against the wall, is that _wench_. And she looks _horrible._ _Serves her right, but **Gods** that’s disgusting…_ His thoughts stray from her and back to the brothers writhing on the bed. He turns back to see the Thunderer’s fingers, wet and glistening, disappear into the trickster’s body and he slowly backs up and out of the room, his eyes still glued to the delving fingers.  After he pulls the door closed he leans his warm face against the cool wood for a moment, then turns to press his back against it, his head tilted up and skin flushed. When he looks back down he groans and thumps his head back to the door.

_Oh, Gods…I have the most inappropriate erection right now…_

***

Odin and Frigga approach the healing room that holds their sons and address the guard outside.

“I trust that there were no issues?” Expecting a positive answer, Odin’s voice is firm and confident.

“Not…as such, my king,” the guard’s face is flushed and he avoids the Allfather’s eyes.

“What happened?” Frigga’s voice is sharp and her eyes flinty, “I knew it was a bad idea to leave that woman in there!” She moves to push the door open and rush inside.

“NO!” The young man spreads his arms in front of the entrance and bars her from going in.

“ _Excuse_ me?” He gulps in the face of her narrowed stare, and unsure how to explain the situation to her, he stammers.

“We—well, it is just that they—, that is to say…The princes, your majesty, are—uhm asleep?” He grimaces, _I sound like an idiot…_

“Was that supposed to be an answer or a question?” Her eyebrows slant in to meet in a sharp “V”, disapproval in every line of her face.

“Err…Answer. Well, I am unsure if they are asleep or not—,”

“Yet, you have just told me that they are. Step aside so I may see my sons!” Her anger is tangible now. Odin is standing aside watching as his wife grows more agitated with the guard, and he is unworried for his sons. They may be fallible alone, but together, even with Loki’s weakened state, they are nigh unstoppable. 

“Of course, your majesty. Only—Well, I mean, I don’t know if they are asleep, but I DO know that they are abed.” His blush intensifies.

“I don’t care if they are abed, I _will_ see my sons!”

As the guard steps aside, Odin grimaces and turns to his wife, “Aye, and rather more than you wish to, I think is what this young man is getting at,” the guard nods emphatically and throws him a grateful look but quickly turns away when he sees Odin’s raised eyebrow and pointed look.

“OH! Oh, I see. Well, then,” She seems wholly unfazed by this news, she presses her ear to the door listening, when no noises reach her she nods, “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before. I just wish to check on them,” And with that she pushes the door open and leaves the two men in the hallway gaping after her.

***

The men follow the queen into the room hesitantly. They see her standing to one side, staring fondly at her sleeping boys entwined on the bed, their modesty maintained by their embrace and the sheet.  Odin peers at his sons, thinking: _I suppose their union isn’t as bad as I had thought, it will be good to see both of them happy. The balance of power will be skewed a bit, it is true, but the royalty of their progeny shall never be contested. That is a good thing, I suppose. It is also a good thing that the people of Asgard are an open-minded lot…_

Turning from the lovers, Frigga voices her concern, “But, where is the—oh! Goodness that’s grotesque!” Keeping her distance but peering closer to the horrible ruin that used to be Amora’s face she looks at Odin “Is it dead?”

“There seems to be no signs of life,” he hums thoughtfully “Guard!”

 “Yes my king?” The young man who had been staring at the broken witch in a sort of dazed and disgusted fascination snapped to attention, looking toward the Allfather.

“Fetch a healer to come look at the wretch.”

“Can you not but touch her and see for yourself? It would be faster, husband.” Frigga’s words stop the guard in his tracks, looking back and forth between the husband and wife.

“Yes.”

The queen lifts an eyebrow at his frank affirmation “Then would you, please?”

“Thank you, no.” The poor guard is still standing there in a half stride, helplessly following the conversation, unknowing what to do.

“Why ever not?” Her eyes are confused as she watches her husband grimace at the figure on the floor.

“As king, I feel that if it is not absolutely necessary that I do something myself which I can delegate to others, then I shouldn’t have to,” He raises the eyebrow over his eye, looking at Frigga.

“You don’t wish to lay hand on her, do you?” Frigga bites her lips to smother a smile.

“Not…as such, no.” Odin gives an inelegant snort and turns his attention to the guard, “Well?” he asks, with both eyebrows raised this time.

“Yes sire!” and he leaves the king and queen in the room with the princes and the witch.


	10. Chapter Ten

Loki awakens to a soft hand running through his hair. Humming, he presses his head into the soothing touches as his nose registers a delicate lavender scent.  _Mother._   Nuzzling deeper into Thor’s warmth, Loki basks for a moment, soothed by the two people he loves most.  It almost feels as if Frigga is plucking away the sleep-induced cotton in his mind, bringing him closer and closer to coherent consciousness.  He hears a double set of footsteps approach, heralding two new visitors, and the hand in his hair pulls away, so he makes the effort to awaken fully. Pulling slightly out of Thor’s embrace, he sits up against the headboard, rolling his brother from his side to his stomach, Loki pulls his head and topmost shoulder across his lap, combing his fingers through the blonde hair as Frigga was doing to him moments ago.  He looks to the door, seeing the kind guard enter with yet another healer.

Loki lifts an eyebrow, “Something wrong?”

“No, darling. Your father and I just want to see if the wench is still among the living.”

Loki allows his confusion to show, “Why didn’t father just check?”

His mother chuckles and nods toward Odin, “ _He_ didn’t want to—,”

“Delegation! A king needs to know when to delegate. It’s good for the kingdom, and allows everyone to feel useful,” Odin’s cheeks were a bit pink.

“…Right,” Loki looked back and forth between his mother and father, his mind still sluggish…not that he can be blamed, though. Torture, healing, sex, and sleep would each make a lesser man entirely incoherent alone, but together? He is proud that he is even _awake_ at the moment.

Frigga looks like she is about to say something when the healer pronounces Amora dead.  It almost feels like an empty victory for Loki. Sure, he got to watch his brother tear her apart, he got to force her to watch the man she loved fuck _him_ , he got to witness first-hand her luxurious downfall. And while that was all well and good, and he would be reliving her _unlucky_ end over and over again in his head for days to come, revisiting her pain and misery…it would never bring his child back.  Loki doesn’t form attachments to many people…he loves his brother, he loves his mother, and he loves his father…but that’s really where the love ends. He’s annoyed by most people, and he tolerates the rest…a few he _likes_ , but that’s nowhere near love. But, he knew he would love the tiny person inside him. And even with all of his righteousness at Amora’s pain, it still hurts that no amount of anguish he could have caused her would even equal that which she has inflicted upon him. What hurt the most was the misery in his brother’s eyes. No one hurts his Thor. _No one._

Loki resurfaced from his thoughts just in time to catch the healer’s question, “Shall I begin the funerary procedures, sire?”

“ ** _NO_** ,” the vehemence in Loki’s voice startled everyone present.

Frigga looks toward her son, “But Loki…She is dead. The body cannot just stay here…”

“ ** _NO_** , mother. I won’t have her just waltzing into Hel, without a by-your-leave .  Spending the rest of eternity comfortable in the realm of the dead!”

“Loki, you speak as if she’s going to Valhalla! There will be no comfort for her in Hel, and you know this.” Odin’s gaze was stern, but Loki would not be dissuaded.

“She _will_ be comfortable because that is where she belongs! Comfort is a relative thing, father, _you_ know _this_. I want her to _suffer_ ,” The heat in Loki’s eyes had the healer inching back.

“…Darling…she _has_ suffered. Look at her…” Frigga glances at him with concern, turning her eyes to her husband’s, seeing if he had any idea where this was going.

“… _no_ ,” this time the word was a deathly, near-silent whisper, laden with nasty and spiteful, “I would have her in agony for all of eternity. I would have this woman, this woman who _bound_ me, _tortured_ me, _nearly broke me_ …this woman who _murdered_ my child, _your grandchild_ , a **_Prince of Asgard_** , this _woman_ who **_broke Thor’s heart_** …” his voice cracking and breaking, the words pitted with his emotions, “I would have her walk the land of the living for eons, a shade unable to cross to the realms of the dead. In perpetual anguish and loneliness.  Feeling out of place as the universe grows and changes. Forever fragmented and unwanted. A bodiless soul imprisoned and taunted with the life it no longer has. Even Hel would look like paradise after a decade.  This is what I want for her. This is what I _need_ ,” His voice had risen toward the end of his speech, and he sits there, hands clenched in Thor’s hair, face flushed and a bit embarrassed with himself for his inability to hide his vicious desire for this.

“I agree, father,” Thor’s deep rumble sounds from atop Loki’s lap, the vibrations of his growl humming against his brother’s thighs.

“The two of you would deny her funeral rights? You know the consequences for this, boys. Hel will not be happy,” Resignation tinted his words, and he stands facing his sons, gauging their reactions to the reminder of the Queen of the Underworld’s wrath.

“And _this_ is the consequence for torture and murder of the princes of Asgard,” comes the haughty reply to his father’s chastisement. A humorless chuckle, “It is just as well, father. Even Hel wouldn’t want this one, anyway.”

A quiet cough sounds and all eyes shift toward the healer who was frowning, holding the salve they had used earlier, “Prince Loki, may I ask who was using this jar and left it here?” he asks, holding up the stout container. 

The prince clears his throat, cheeks pink, “Thor did it.”

“ _Loki_! Now, that’s not fair, you—,” Thor’s indignant sputters had him rising from Loki’s lap.

“I nothing! _You_ used it and _you_ left it there. That was his question, was it not?” Looking toward the healer for confirmation and getting a puzzled nod.

A lewd smirk, “Well…technically we _both_ used it…” earning a scowl from his brother.

“Now you’re just splitting hairs, Thor,” crossing his arms, Loki glares at him.

The healer interrupts whatever Thor was about to say in return, “Your highnesses…did you, I mean to say…was this salve used in congress?”

“Oh! I’ve heard of that! No, I haven’t seen any old Midgardian men in stuffy suits. Do they still wear those tight short-pants which come to the knees? Hogun and I had wondered if they would help for ease of movement while on the hunt. I could do without the women’s stockings they seem to favor, but the pants appear like they make less noise as—,” Loki was staring at him in disbelief.

“You…are an _idiot_. Not Congress… _congress_.”

Thor peered at him, “It is like you think there is a difference between the words you are saying to me, brother. Are you certain you are alright?” Thor manages to catch Loki’s hand before it made contact with the trickster’s own forehead.

“Oh, for the love all the realms… _he is asking if we used it to fuck, **Thor**_!”

“…ah,” Thor turns his embarrassed gaze toward the healer once more, clearing his throat, a bit uncomfortable talking about his sex life with his brother in front of their parents as the two of them sit there naked, but for a thin sheet, “Aye…”

The healer pales, “Oh dear…”


	11. Epilogue

 The witch’s body was left to the elements and her head mounted on a spike of the fence surrounding the palace, her tormented visage presenting a gruesome reminder of the consequences of such crimes against the royal family.  At first, the trophy seemed to visibly upset most of the Asgardians who were able to catch a glimpse of it…confusing and frightening the general populace. They weren’t quite comfortable with the blatant disregard for proper funeral practices and they wondered why their king had such a beautiful woman disfigured in such a way. 

Wulfric, the kindly young guard, was invaluable in calming the public, spreading his account of Amora’s misdeeds to any and all who would listen, recounting the sight of their youngest prince chained and kneeling on the floor, clothes sopping in his own life’s blood and the violent death of who was to be the newest royal scion.  His words, heartily reinforced by the Healers’ Guild, were met with grief and, slowly, the realm mourned with their princes. 

***

Loki is standing on the same parapet that he stood on to watch his mother and his lover leave for Vanaheim seven months ago. This time there is no malevolence in the air, Thor is not walking away from him, and he is simply staring out at the kingdom and its beauty.  He brings a hand to his lower back, kneading the taut muscles there as his other hand braces underneath his swollen belly.

A larger hand slides atop his, cradling his distended middle as if trying to relieve him of its weight. The brother of that hand replaces Loki’s own on his back, gliding in firm circles as a warm body presses against his side. “Hello, my love,” comes the quiet murmur into his hair.

“Hello, brother,” Loki answers, unwilling to add more words and disturb the stillness.

The two of them stay like that, Thor with Loki tucked against him and kissing along his face and neck, and Loki wrapping Thor’s cape around him for warmth, looking out at their kingdom and thinking about nothing in particular. Mostly nothing in particular…

“Thor. You are salivating on me,” Loki’s disgruntled voice breaks the silence.

“I’m just kissing you, Loki,” and Thor continues placing the soft open-mouthed kisses on the Trickster’s skin.

“ _No_ , you are _also_ **drooling**. Knock it off.”

“But Looookiii,” Thor receives a very un-amused glare for his whine, “you usually love it when I kiss you. I have never heard you utter a complaint about my saliva.”

“Well, that was then: before your seed grew into two squirming masses inside my abdomen! This is now, and I don’t want to bathe in your spit, you horny brute!” Loki, irritated and embarrassed at his decreased sex drive in these last few months of pregnancy, snaps at Thor.

“What? You mean like this?” Thor raises and tightens his arms around Loki’s chest, preventing him from moving away as he sticks the tip of his tongue into the Trickster’s ear and gives it an obscene wiggle.

“ _THOR_!” Loki turns and pushes against his brother’s broad shoulders, angling his head away, as Thor grins and leans farther forward, bracing his feet and arms to secure the other man, and wags his tongue in Loki’s face, dragging it across the bridge of his nose.

“ ** _THOR_**!” Loki’s squeal of rage stutters into a surprised laugh as Thor sucks the very tip of his nose.

They laugh together for a few moments before Thor sobers, “This horny brute has no qualms about waiting until after the squirming masses enter the outside world to have you again, brother, but nothing shall stop me from bestowing my affection upon you,” he says, resting his forehead against Loki’s. 

Loki just sighs and tucks his face into the bend of Thor’s shoulder, speaking quietly now, “Mother said pregnancy was never this difficult for her…”

“You know the healer said it has to do with you carrying twins, Loki. Quite obviously, mother never had that problem,” Thor lets loose a quiet snort at the thought.

“Your seed _would_ beget _two_ children…” he tries to lose the grumble in Thor’s tunic, but his brother catches the remark and laughs.

“ _You_ are the one who summoned the fertility salve! I _asked_ you what it was, and do you remember how you answered me?” Thor raises and eyebrow at his brother.

“I didn’t _know_ what it was!”

“Do you remember?” Thor pitches his voice higher and moans a lusty whine, “’ _I don’t know, stuff? Use it!_ ’” and Loki scoffs at the imitation as a flush stains his face.

“You beast. Blaming this all on me when you _know_ I wasn’t in my right mind…” the mumbles are good natured and teasing.

“Mmm, well you certainly weren’t in your _wrong_ mind,” Thor gives a teasing grin. After a few seconds his face softens into a tender smile, “I count it a blessing that we made two children, dearest.  It almost feel as if our first child has been given a second chance. A chance to live and grow with his brother as I have lived and grown with you. I _am_ sorry that the babes are causing you discomfort, but I cannot regret the cause of it.”

Loki presses his lips to Thor’s, staying there for a moment just breathing against him, then, focusing his eyes on Thor’s, “I can’t either, brother,” and he sighs, standing there with his brother, his lover, his world. A world that is about to get a little bigger, but he finds that he doesn’t mind in the slightest.

 

The End

 

**Author's Note:**

> Well. Thanks for sticking with this, you deserve a kudos yourself!
> 
> Thanks to [ Jadecorpsebride](http://archiveofourown.org/users/jadecorpsebride/pseuds/jadecorpsebride) who helped be slough through and beta it. Seriously, guys. It was WAAAY worse (could you even imagine?).
> 
> Constructive criticism is greatly appreciated! I would like to learn how to make plots!
> 
> Hit me up on [my Tumblr](http://aconitebite.tumblr.com) if you so desire (I'm not gonna lie...it's mostly slash with the occasional cute animal and gay porn .gif).


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